


A Flight of Fancy

by Meatball42



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Iron Man 2, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22330195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/pseuds/Meatball42
Summary: The Stark Expo was supposed to be the pinnacle of Tony's legacy as one of the pioneering magical artificers. He didn't expect for it to offer him another chance at living.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2019





	A Flight of Fancy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misbehavingvigilante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavingvigilante/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [misbehavingvigilante](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbehavingvigilante/pseuds/misbehavingvigilante) in the [stony_stocking_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2019) collection. 



> This was supposed to be about ace!Steve and his supportive polycule/coven working to heal him without using sex magic, but I didn’t quite get that far. So please enjoy this Magic AU!

It’s the opening night for the Stark Magic Expo in Queens, and Tony is already exhausted.

He’s been up on stage, he’s done the flashy lights, he’s showed off why artificers have always been magicians in their own right and deserve to be recognized for it. He’s shaken hundreds of hands, solicited donations, agreed to meetings, turned down illegal business propositions and coy flirtations alike.

He’s slipped away to the bathroom and checked the level of magical waste in his blood from the counter-curse catalyst in his chest.

All Tony wants to do is be out of the limelight, be somewhere quiet. He needs to get out of this conversation with this studio exec: even though a documentary about the return of the Expo would be great for PR, the guy won’t shut up long enough for Tony to say ‘Have your people call my people.’

And then JARVIS hums in his ear. Tony holds up a ‘gimme a second’ hand to the exec, raising the other hand to his ear. Everyone knows that Iron Man is always on alert; it’s very good for getting him out of things.

“There is a last minute issue regarding the booths in Sector G,” JARVIS tells him.

“Sounds like something only I can handle,” Tony replies glibly, because this is way below his purview, but JARVIS is saving his ass right now—or at least his patience—and he’s grateful.

“Indeed,” the sprite in his ear replies pleasantly.

“Got to go, duty calls,” Tony says to the exec. “We’ll set something up!”

Finally outside, Tony takes his time getting to the command center of the park, a good ten minute walk on a night like this, where all the traffic is contained to the stadium. It lets him cool off, shed the veneer of Tony Stark, CTO, and relax a bit.

By the time he arrives, he’s nearly managed to come to peace with the taste of rotten magic on his tongue. And he figures he’s more than ready to deal with whatever petty dispute has the night crew calling for a higher-up.

When Tony enters the command center, he sees the source of the disturbance immediately. A huge blond guy is practically shaking with rage in front of the service counter, bright pink blotches staining his pale cheeks. The Stark Security guard—Joe, according to his nametag—looks frustrated in a way that goes beyond customer service.

Tony throws on his best ‘we’re all friends here’ smile and claps his hands. The blond turns around, already glaring, but falters when he recognizes Tony.

“Evening, gents,” Tony greets them, coming up to lean carelessly against the counter. “What seems to be the problem?”

‘Joe’ is visibly relieved to be passing off the problem. “Sir, this guy’s insisting that he needs to have his booth moved. By tomorrow.”

Tony keeps his groan internal. It’s been the work of months setting up all the booths for the first week of the Expo. Any necessary moves should have been requested way earlier, but there’s always somebody who wants to bitch late in the game.

He offers his hand to the blond and tries not to stare at the bulge of bicep when it’s taken and shaken.

“Tony Stark, at your service,” he introduces himself, as though he needs any introduction. “What’s issue with your current placement?”

“I’m Steve Rogers, the Executive Director for APHH, the Association for Practitioners of Holistic Health. Our booth has been put in an age-restricted section.”

“He’s a sex witch,” Joe sums up, clearly holding onto the very last of his professional courtesy. “Sex magics go in the 18+ building. It’s policy.”

“The healing magic APHH teaches and promotes is not sexual,” Rogers shoots back. “That’s exactly the misconception my organization is working to counter, and if you refuse to let me advertise properly because of it, it becomes discrimination.” 

He holds up a pamphlet from a stack he’s got in front of him, which does, in fact, have _‘Non-sexual magical healing techniques’_ in big teal letters on the front.

Tony has been in corporate positions since he turned nineteen, and he knows better than to brush it off when the word ‘discrimination’ gets thrown around. “Let me see that,” he demands before Joe can make the retort that’s clearly on the tip of his tongue.

The inside of the pamphlet, from a quick glance, backs up Rogers’ story. There are supposedly ‘before’ images of a too-thin, short young man, and ‘after’ images of the tall gym-rat standing before Tony presently. Such a transformation, according to the thankfully not-twee typeface, involved no sex or vitae magic.

“So you practice healing magic, but without sex?”

Tony looks up at Steve with sincere bafflement. Magic-based healing has always used sex as a source of power. More rarely, bodily fluids are used to convert life into healing power, generally blood. But necromancy or anything even close to it would have been screened out much earlier than this, especially with the amount of eyes on the reopening of the Expo.

Rogers squares his shoulders, raising his chin proudly. It’s quite a sight, Tony notices. “My coven has worked for years to integrate techniques from various cultures that can produce reliable healing effects. None of which require sex,” he continues with a pointed look for Joe, “or life-transference. We’re all licensed healers in New York state and we came to the Expo to look for investors for an informational campaign. Which definitely won’t happen if we’re labelled as ‘Adult’ practitioners by Stark Industries.”

He looks like some sort of superhero, standing all tall and muscly and righteous, with red cheeks and challenging blue eyes. Not that Tony’s noticing that, because he’s thinking very seriously about the policy decision he has to make here, and also about how he’s dying.

Tony’s tried sex magic to heal the wounds his missiles caused. He’s tried a lot of it. And since that had no effect, he’s tried a lot of legal vitae magics, and some sketchier stuff as well.

Maybe this will be the thing that works. It’s not like he has a lot of other options.

“How about this,” Tony says slowly. Immediately, a spark lights in Rogers’ eyes, an expectation that he’s being managed and an absolute readiness to keep fighting about it. Tony holds up a hand, smiles.

“Down boy. I’ll let the head of ops know to move you to a more suitable hall. But I have another proposition for you. Why don’t you head back to the stadium with me? I’ll take you to dinner at whichever restaurant you like, and you can give me your pitch.”

Rogers recovers quickly, but the split second of those plush lips open in surprise stays with Tony, even as he reminds himself that this business is more important than his attraction.

“Uh… absolutely. Thank you, Mr Stark.”

“Tony,” Tony says congenially, watching Rogers fumble to scoop up his pamphlets in his unfairly huge hands. He then watches Rogers head for the door and controls the instinctive whistle he wants to make.

Joe has wisely decided to fume down at his desk, rather than contradict Tony Stark himself.

“Thanks for the call,” Tony tells him, because he likes to keep his employees happy. “I’ll make sure you get a finder’s fee if this pans out.”

Suddenly, Joe doesn’t look upset anymore, and Tony heads out after the guy who might be his salvation.

And who knows… maybe even more.


End file.
